“What about the rest of the town?” Mamá asks.
“I’m afraid Rodrigo’s mother, Isabel Treviño, was shot and killed. The little ones hid in the cellar and survived. Pedro and Martín were off bidding on farm equipment. Rodrigo was at his grandmother’s repairing damage from a windstorm. He’s the one who found Isabel.”
Mamá sighs. “Oh, what a shame. That poor woman. What a cruel irony that she lost her life at the hands of the same men who kidnapped her husband and son.”
“What happened?” Elsa asks, bewildered. “I thought they would leave Mariposa, like we did. Rodrigo’s father is the one who told us the soldiers were coming.”
“They did leave, but in six months, Villa never came, and they had a farm to get back to,” Papá explains. “They had only been back a few weeks.”
“What a terrible shock it must have been,” Elsa murmurs.
“They’re doing their best to cope with the situation. Isabel’s sister is a widow and lives alone less than a day’s travel from here. Pedro asked that I share the bad news with her and ask for her help with his children. I’ll go tomorrow. If she agrees, Rodrigo will stay at her house and look for work. Martín will stay and help his father rebuild the farm.”
“Poor Rodrigo, finding his mother like that.” Elsa places her hand over her chest. “When will he arrive?”
“I don’t know for sure, m’ija, but I spoke with him before we left. He’s anxious to see you, and I’m sure you’ll bring him great comfort. He asked for permission to court you, and I happily gave him my blessing.”
Tears roll down Elsa’s face in a steady stream. I put my arm around her waist.
“Adán,” Mamá says, “just think what might have happened if any of us had stayed at the ranch. We should give thanks to the Lord.”
We hold hands in a circle around the table and bow our heads low. The candles flicker and cast moving shadows on the wall like the uneasy souls of the departed.
“Thank you for blessing our lives,” Papá begins. “You shower us with abundant blessings of grace, peace and love and we are forever grateful. Please keep our minds pure, despite the treachery and sins of others, as we strive to see the good in all things. Let our actions reflect your word, so that when doubt and grief overwhelm us, faith will inspire us to work once more for the good of others and always for Your glory. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
“Papá, tell us about the cross,” Enrique says.
“The villistas stormed the church and took everything that wasn’t nailed down. Father Roberto was more than grateful for the cross. I didn’t tell him where it came from, only that it would be impossible to return it to its original owners. The Comanches are long gone from northern Mexico. The cross will be sold, most likely in Mexico City, and used to replace what was stolen and help Mariposa rebuild what was lost. But with the current dangers, it could be months or even years. No one will be traveling to Mexico City anytime soon.
“Oh, and, Evangelina, before I forget,” Papá continues. “Abuelito asked me to give you this note.” He pulls an envelope from his pocket.
Everyone’s gone to bed. The stillness of the house makes it too easy to think and feel. I’m numb. Well, not numb. Angry. Lost. Confused. Relieved?
What is wrong with me? This is shameful! How can I feel relieved if I love Mariposa? I’ve been trying to predict how my life will go since before Elsa’s quinceañera. Will I live out my life in Mariposa, where I have all the answers? Or will I stay here and fight for things I never even thought of before? Dreams I didn’t know were possible. My world was small and comforting back then. My world is big now and full of prospects. If I study and continue with school, I could become a nurse, or a doctor even. Selim isn’t a dream, and he’s more than a possibility. He wants to be with me, and as hard as it’s going to be—a Lebanese boy and a Mexican girl—I want to be with him. I feel it. We’re supposed to be with each other.
Six months ago my answer would have been as certain as the crickets’ song on a summer night. My life was in Mexico, on the ranch. Now, the revolution grows, Mexico’s future is uncertain, Mariposa is in shambles and the ranch is gone.
Challenges are chances in disguise, Abuelito says.
I open the screen door gradually, hoping it won’t creak. I sit on the front step with one of Tía’s sweaters wrapped tightly around me. The full moon that shines on me, shines on Abuelito, too, providing all the light I need to read his letter.
21 November
My dearest Evangelina, your father tells me you are doing well in school and even getting lessons from the local doctor. That is wonderful news! I always knew you were smart like your Abuelito. He also said you spoke bravely in front of a large crowd at a town meeting. I couldn’t be more proud! M’ija, what your father told me just confirms what I’ve known all along, that you would blossom from a loving curious child into a confident, compassionate, determined young lady capable of doing anything you set your mind to.
The reason I am writing is that you came to me in a dream the night after you left, and I felt I must tell you about it. You stood at the river’s edge peacefully watching the waters of the Río Bravo rush past. Dark clouds rolled in and opened up from the heavens, releasing a great rainstorm. You lifted your face to the sky and let it hit your skin and soak your clothes. Suddenly a lone wolf appeared beside you and drank from the river with a stunning butterfly perched on its shoulder! It lifted and flew around you in a spiral again and again, but you did not cry out or move. You simply waved it south toward the Sierra Madre and the warm waters of the Gulf. I could not put the dream out of my mind, m’ija. Then I remembered a story I told you many, many years ago about how our little town got its name. Do you remember?
When you were born, it was a blessing from God, a sign of His goodness and grace, like the butterflies. God wants you to dream just like the mariposas did. Then spread your wings, and go get your dream.
Love,
Abuelito
I look at the vast and sparkling sky, stretch my arms out and imagine myself lifting off this earthly ground.
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